


although we are miles apart

by friedrhys



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Begging, M/M, One Shot, Pet Names, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedrhys/pseuds/friedrhys
Summary: "As long as I have known you, taking your pants off was never how you 'got comfortable.'""Well, maybe I've picked up the habit. Feels like it's been years since I last seen you--""Two weeks and three days is hardly a year, Jesse--""--and it's startin' to get real lonely 'round these parts. I'm missin' you somethin' fierce, baby. C'mon, gimme some sugar?"
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 3
Kudos: 169





	although we are miles apart

**Author's Note:**

> the first half of this was written by me for an old kinktober prompt, and the second half was finished not long after by my good friend Partymeowth! i've been thinking about uploading it for a little while now, but they've only just now given me the inspiration to do so.

"So...what're you wearin'?"

Hanzo huffs. "Pyjamas," he answers blandly, crossing his legs at the ankles and resting a hand on his abdomen. He was just getting ready for bed when Jesse had called, and while Hanzo would normally be a little cross about having his strict sleep schedule disrupted, he hasn't seen his husband in a few weeks and is sorely beginning to miss his voice. On the other side of the line, he can hear Jesse shuffling around followed by the unmistakable sound of jeans being unzipped, prompting him to roll his eyes. "You cannot be serious."

"What? Can't a man get comfortable around here?"

"As long as I have known you, taking your pants off was never how you 'got comfortable.'"

"Well, maybe I've picked up the habit. Feels like it's been years since I last seen you--"

"Two weeks and three days is hardly a year, Jesse--"

"--and it's startin' to get real lonely 'round these parts. I'm missin' you somethin' fierce, baby. C'mon, gimme some sugar?"

At first, Hanzo thought Jesse was just fooling around and making a joke, but the more he talks, the more he takes on that unmistakable tone, the one that never fails to make Hanzo's face heat up and lust to pool hot and insistent in his belly. "Perhaps I have time to indulge you," he hums, even as he reaches down to tug his sweatpants to mid-thigh. He's never really tried phone sex before, but he's willing to give it a shot for his lover.

Jesse's satisfied groan reverberates through the phone. Judging from the slick sounds in the background, he is already touching himself, making Hanzo amused and horny in equal measure. "Oh, honey, you're so good to me. Been hard all day just thinkin' about you."

The admission makes Hanzo suck in a tiny gasp. His dick twitches between his legs in interest, and he rubs at himself through his underwear with the palm of his hand. 

"Hanzo, can you touch yourself for me? Please? Wanna hear you make yourself feel good."

"Yes, yes, just--" Hanzo sets his phone between his ear and his shoulder and lifts his hips up to pull his underwear down far enough to free his cock, already half-hard and leaking. He wraps one hand around himself, trails the other one further down to tease over his hole. He doesn't push in, there's no lube nearby, but the contact is enough to make him shudder. "Hah--Jesse, keep talking. Please."

Jesse moans, and Hanzo can see him now, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut while he fucks up into his own fist. "Fuck, wish I was there with you, honey. Can't stop thinkin' about suckin' you off, 'bout how fuckin' good you taste. You got no how idea how badly I wanna feel you come down my throat, or, fuck, all over my face--"

Hanzo lets out a startled noise, his cock, now fully hard, dripping precome. One of his greatest weaknesses is Jesse's dirty talk, a fact the cowboy takes advantage of on a regular basis. "I won't let you," Hanzo growls, a threat. "I will hold you still, fuck your face, and use your mouth for my own pleasure."

"God, baby, I'd let ya. Love when you get all dominant on me. Love - ahh - knowin' I can make ya lose your cool."

"The only one losing their cool here is _you_, Jesse. You are already a mess and I've not even laid a finger on you."

“Yeah, I am, _fuck_, I’m—I need ya so bad, kitten,” McCree pants over the line, and Hanzo sucks a harsh breath through his gritted teeth. “Tell me—tell me what you’re doin’. Please.”

“I am… touching myself. Obviously,” Hanzo answers. It would probably sound more snarky if he wasn’t so out of breath.

“Your cock or your ass?” McCree asks, crude as ever. He’s lucky Hanzo finds it hot, though he’s loath to admit it.

“Both,” he manages weakly, despite the latter being admittedly tame for his tastes. It’s tempting to seek out lube so that he can finger-fuck himself properly, but he doesn’t want to abandon his phone for even a second.

“Mm, _good_,” McCree sighs out, and Hanzo preens at how much pleasure his husband seems to derive from a simple mental image. “I’d reach a hand around while you’re fuckin’ my face and tease that li'l hole of yours. Love the way your hips stutter when I do that, like you’re losin’ yourself a li'l.”

Hanzo twists a breathless moan into a considering hum, pressing his fingertips against his rim. His bow-roughened fingers are not quite the same, his touch unable to replicate the achingly gentle strokes of his lover. McCree is always so genuine, and reverent, like Hanzo is worth so much more than he thinks himself to be. He’s struck with a yearning so powerful that it hurts. It’s decidedly unsexy, so he fights to banish it by continuing their fantasy in a low growl, “I would grab you by the hair and yank you back, because I did not give you permission to touch me.”

McCree betrays his interest with an appreciative moan. Hanzo smirks, imagining the man bucking into his own hand in that wild way that he does when he gets all worked up. For once, the talkative cowboy doesn’t say anything, so Hanzo keeps going, lazily stroking himself as he speaks. “I would keep you there, your mouth just inches away from my cock. And I would wait. I am a very patient man, you know,” he purrs, and a skeptical snort filters through the receiver. Hanzo ignores it. “I would wait for you to beg for it. Would you beg for it, Jesse? Would you beg for _me_?”

The noise that bleeds through the line is desperate and shuddering, and for a split second, Hanzo fears that McCree is already done. But then comes a sinfully low, “Yes,” deepened with lust, followed by _exactly_ what Hanzo wants to hear, “Please, baby, I want ya so bad. Give it to me, honey, _please_. Wanna taste ya, wanna—_ah_, fuck, angel, lemme make ya feel good, _please_.”

Hanzo's teeth sink into his bottom lip, his movements fringing on frantic as he jerks himself off. McCree's pleading is nearly enough to send him over the edge, and a high noise seeps from his throat as he forces himself to stop just before he can come, hips twitching upward one last time in protest.

"Jesus, baby," McCree croaks, and from the sound of it, he isn't faring much better. "What—_hah_, tell me what—"

"I will tell you what I would do," Hanzo cuts in hoarsely, and the ragged groan on the other end is like music to his ears. "I would give you what you want. I would tighten my grip on your hair, and slowly push my cock into that dirty mouth of yours. From there, I would go hard and fast, until I fuck your lips into a beautiful shade of red."

McCree whines, and Hanzo's heard that same cadence enough times to know that he's reaching the end. He picks up his own pace, the phone sliding from the crook of his shoulder a little as he ruts into his fist. "I would not stop, and when I get close, I would—" He presses his finger a little harder against his asshole, and the slight hint of pressure is delicious, causing his words to break off with a wispy exhale.

"Come down my throat," McCree begs, voice shaking with urgency, like he might die if Hanzo says no. "Please, _please_, need it so bad, sweetheart."

Hanzo works his jaw, but all that comes out is a broken moan as he spills into his hand, his orgasm side-sweeping him. He's vaguely aware of McCree's whimper of "oh _shit_," and then McCree is coming too, and the unmistakable groan would've surely pushed Hanzo over the edge if he wasn't already there.

As he comes down from the high, Hanzo strains to hear McCree’s wrecked panting, but it’s somewhat muffled, like the phone had tumbled onto the pillow or something. His suspicions are confirmed when there’s a short rustling, and then McCree’s voice is crystal clear and rough with satisfaction. “You’re a goddamn angel, y’know that?”

“I know,” Hanzo lies, because McCree has a tendency to say the most ridiculous things during the afterglow. Hanzo, himself, is more of a cuddler, and the lack of his husband’s body heat has the ache returning with a vengeance.

In a purely selfish act, he swipes McCree’s neglected pillow up and holds it against his chest, cradling it near his heart. It reeks faintly of tobacco and spice. He regrets touching it with his filthy hands, because now he will have to wash it later. “I miss you, Jesse,” he murmurs to the empty room as he lays in a bed that feels far too big, nestling closer to his phone.

“Miss ya too, sweetpea.”


End file.
